


Neapolitan

by Flyting



Series: Rumbelle/Dark One OT3 [4]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Birthdays, Domestic Fluff, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Kink, Shapeshifting, gratuitous hugging, implied m/f/f threesome, kinky fluff, no actual smut at this time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-07
Updated: 2015-11-07
Packaged: 2018-04-30 12:35:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5164052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flyting/pseuds/Flyting
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Belle/Rumplestiltskin/The Dark One OT3. In which Rumple has a birthday, and Belle and the Dark One have a plan to make it a memorable one. </p><p>  <i>Rumplestiltskin relaxes into the embrace, breathing in the familiar salt and magic smell of him. Fingertips trail lazily up and down his spine.</i><br/><i>A distant clatter of heels on the staircase announces Belle’s return. “Besides,” the Dark One says in his ear, low and full of promise, “we aren’t nearly finished yet.” He’s suddenly very aware of the hand resting on the small of his back.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Neapolitan

**Author's Note:**

> A short and silly scene that wouldn't leave me alone. I apologize for the fact that it can't make up its mind whether it's kink or gratuitous fluff. Set some time after everything else in the 'verse.

Rumplestiltskin had advance warning that something was being plotted behind his back when the bell over the shop door rang, and Henry walked in bearing a brightly colored gift bag and a card.

“Hey, grandpa!”  
  
“Hey, Henry. This is a nice surprise. What’s this?” he asked, as Henry sat the bag on the counter.  
  
“It’s your birthday present,” Henry beamed.  
  
“My-“ Rumplestiltskin mentally backtracked. His birthday? He couldn’t remember the last time he’d celebrated his own birthday. Bae had always insisted on marking the occasion with whatever little gifts he could manage- a drawing, some scraps of good ribbon, a basket of wild cherries for their supper- but once he was gone Rumplestiltskin had seen little point in remembering the day anymore.  
  
In all truth, he wasn’t even entirely sure when his birthday was. It had been so long, and there was something of a trick to translating dates from their world to this one. But the season was right, and he was reasonably sure it was the right part of the month. It very well could be his birthday.  
  
“Who told you it was my birthday?” Rumplestiltskin asks, already half sure of what the answer will be.  
   
There was only one other being in Storybrooke who possibly remembered that Rumplestiltskin even had a birthday.  
  
“Creepy-You,” Henry nodded. “Well, he told Emma, but she told me.”  
  
“That explains the bullet holes in my black shirt then.” Rumplestiltskin sighed. Emma Swan had sworn that she would empty her gun into the Dark One if he ever came within ten feet of her again, and he had never known her to make false promises.  
  
“Yeah, she shot him first. I heard it was pretty awesome.” Henry pushed the card across the counter, bouncing on his heels. “Here, open this one first. I wrote it.”  
  
Rumplestiltskin unfolded the envelope, pulling out the card. “…You are just so, so old,” he read aloud off the front.  
  
“There’s kind of a trick to it. It opens like this- see?” Henry reached across the counter to pull at the edge of the card. It unfolded accordion-style until the text read, _‘You are just so incredible. Really cool also, so I’m sure you’ve been told.’_  
  
“I even got everyone to sign it,” He added, pointing to the scrawl of names across the bottom.  Rumplestiltskin recognized Snow White and Charming’s names next to Henry’s, and a half-hearted scrawl that might have even been Hook’s signature. He nearly laughed. The boy was the only person who could possibly have pulled together something like this.  
  
“Thank you, Henry,” Rumplestiltskin said, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I love it. Really.”  
  
Henry grinned and pushed the gift bag forward, “Oh and here- my moms chipped in on this one. They said you’d need it.”  
  
He untied the ribbon at the top with a hint of trepidation, but was pleased to see a large bottle of good single-malt. A tag around the neck of the bottle read, ‘ _For after breakfast’_ , in Regina’s elegant script.  
  
“Oh yeah, I almost forgot!” Henry said, “Grandma Snow wants you and Belle to come over for breakfast tomorrow. We’re doing pancakes and, y’know, normal family stuff. Like a birthday breakfast thing. Everyone’s gonna be there. ”  
  
Henry thought for a second, then added, “Maybe don’t bring Creepy-You though. Unless he’s okay with mom shooting him again.”  
  
“I will pass the message along,” Rumplestiltskin says dryly. He walks around the counter to pull Henry into a one-armed hug. They were very nearly of a height now. When had that happened?  
  
“Thank you for the card,” he says into the boy’s hair, “And tell your mothers I appreciate the gift. It was… very thoughtful.”  
  
“No problem. See you tomorrow?”  
  
“I wouldn’t miss it.”  
  
Henry gave a last wave as he headed for the door, “Bye, grandpa! Happy birthday!”  
  
A smile lingers on the edge of Rumplestiltskin’s face as he watches Henry disappear down the street. This had been a surprise, but not, remarkably, an unpleasant one.

When the boy is no longer in sight, he turns away from the window.

Of course, if the Dark One had gone to the trouble of telling Emma that it was Rumplestiltskin’s birthday, then he had undoubtedly told Belle as well.

Belle hadn’t so much as hinted to any plans tonight. Nothing to lead him to suspect she even knew it was his birthday. Of course, if she had, he would certainly have insisted that he didn’t want them making a fuss.  
  
But it wasn’t like her to let something like this go un-marked. Belle couldn’t resist holidays or special occasions of any sort. Stacked up in the cellar there was a growing pile of boxes full of decorations for every holiday from Christmas to Miner’s Day.

All of this meant that her casual request over breakfast this morning- _do you think you could stop by the shop today and grab those books on binding magic? Thank you, you’re a darling_ -wasn’t nearly so innocent as he had thought.

She wanted him out of the house. He chuckles to himself as he packs the books into the car.

The two of them were plotting something.

He picks at this new little puzzle in his head during the drive home.  
  
Pulling into the driveway, Rumplestiltskin has half a mind to sneak in through the back door just in case Henry’s invitation to breakfast was a ruse and he was about to walk into a living room full of reluctant people in cardboard party hats.

The Dark One might find that hilarious, but surely Belle wouldn’t do that to him?

The lights are off in the house when he unlocks the front door. “Belle?” he calls casually, trying not to sound as if he knows that anything is amiss.  
  
“Back here!”  
  
Luring him in. Of course.

Pocketing his keys, he feels his way through the dim sitting room towards the back of the house. There’s a low golden light coming from the kitchen, and he heads towards it with a fair hint of trepidation. As he turns a corner, Rumplestiltskin realizes that it’s candlelight.

Belle is standing in the middle of the kitchen, looking positively angelic in a soft white party dress that just barely brushes the tops of her knees. Beside her, the Dark One was holding a small cake, which was aglow with a handful of candles. Just the two of them. No one else.

“Happy birthday, Rumplestiltskin.” Belle says softly, smiling.  
  
Rumplestiltskin hooks his cane over the crook of his arm so that he can pull her into a tight embrace.  
  
“Thank you,” he says into her hair, “It’s perfect.”  
  
“When he told me how long it had been since you had a birthday, we had to do something. You deserve it.” She squeezes him gently.  
  
The two of them step back, and Rumplestiltskin realizes that they’ve draped the kitchen with a sea of crepe paper and balloons. Belle’s work, no doubt. He can’t help but smile.  
  
The Dark One holds out the cake for him to see. It has ‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY R’ written across the top in gold.  
  
“We were going to put your name, but the cake wasn’t big enough,” the Dark One smirks.  
  
Rumplestiltskin snorted, giving a dismissive wave. He was used to it.  
  
“The cake would have been bigger if someone hadn’t kept eating the batter,” Belle says, arching an eyebrow.

“It’s more than enough,” Rumplestiltskin interjects before the Dark One can open his mouth to respond.

“Don’t forget to make a wish,” Belle says as he leans in to blow out the candles.  
  
That’s right, you were supposed to make a wish on your birthday, weren’t you? A hope for the new year. In this moment, there wasn’t much missing from his life that he could think to ask for. Nothing that wishing would ever bring back, at least.  
  
Rumplestiltskin thinks for a moment until he settles on something simple, something that won’t leave a bittersweet ache in his chest. They’ve both worked so hard to do something kind for him- it would be ungrateful to spoil it with empty regrets.  
  
He closes his eyes and blows out the candles.  
  
Belle applauds gently, and the lights pop back on just as the candlelight goes out. She pulls him into another quick hug, pressing a kiss to his cheek.  
  
The Dark One sets the cake aside on the counter next to a carton of softening neapolitan ice cream, the candles still streaming smoke. “Now the question is,” it says, “Would you rather have your gift first, or your cake?”  
  
Rumplestiltskin doesn’t miss the sly look that passes between the two of them. “Well that depends- what’s the gift?” he asks, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.  Perhaps he’ll get his birthday wish sooner than he thought.

They share another look. Belle trails her hand down his arm as she passes him on her way out of the kitchen. “I’ll be right back,” she says, her eyes sparkling with mischief.  
  
The Dark One leans back against the counter, eyeing Rumplestiltskin with a secretive little smile while they wait for her return.  
  
“Thank you,” Rumplestiltskin says simply, after a moment. “For doing all of this. I never-”  
  
“Oh, don’t ruin it,” it says archly, with a hint of reproach. “You’re going soft in your old age,” but it winds an arm around his waist anyway, tugging him close so that it can hook its chin over his shoulder.

Rumplestiltskin relaxes into the embrace, breathing in the familiar salt and magic smell of him. Fingertips trail lazily up and down his spine.  
  
A distant clatter of heels on the staircase announces Belle’s return. “Besides,” the Dark One says in his ear, low and full of promise, “we aren’t nearly finished yet.” He’s suddenly very aware of the hand resting on the small of his back.  
  
Rumplestiltskin pulls back to get a better look as Belle sets an elegantly-wrapped cream and black gift box on the counter, biting at her lip with barely contained delight. He vaguely recognizes the name on the lid as a fine Italian women’s clothier.

“I do hope you got my size,” he says, watching Belle’s face, he tugs at the massive gilt gold ribbon on top until it falls away. She giggles.

But when Rumplestiltskin pulls the top off of the box, he finds that there’s nothing inside but a sea of tissue paper.  
  
“Oh, _no_ ,” Belle gasps, with far too much shock to be genuine. She passes another sly look over his shoulder. “What could have happened to it?”

Rumplestiltskin smirks, “I have an idea of where to start looking,” he says, curling one hand around her waist.  
  
He is aware of a faint whisper of magic behind him and then a voice, warm and dark in his ear. “Are you so sure?”  
  
The voice in his ear was Belle’s.  
  
Arms wrap around his waist from behind. A decidedly female- and decidedly familiar- body presses against his back.  
  
“We decided to make it a challenge for you,” Belle- the real Belle- says, circling her arms around his neck and capturing him, trapping him in between the two of them, with that little smile that always sent his blood thrumming.  
  
“First you have to figure out which one of us has it-” the Dark One says, in Belle’s voice.  
  
Rumplestiltskin opens and closes his mouth, but nothing comes out.  
  
“-And then you get your present.” Belle finishes.  
  
Rumplestiltskin swallows hard. He seems to have forgotten words entirely, except perhaps for ‘yes’ and ‘please’ and ‘now’, which are tumbling around his head in a whirlwind right now.  
  
The Dark One slips around his side to stand next to the real Belle. They are very nearly identical, except for the color of their dresses, the shimmer of gold across its skin and the fact that Belle’s smile is distinctly less wicked. When it catches his eye and slides an arm around Belle’s waist, glossy black fingernails curling into her hip, Rumplestiltskin has to clench his teeth to prevent a high-pitched needy sound from escaping his throat. His cheeks are warm- he is sure that they’re turning bright pink.  
  
When he does finally manage to scrounge together a few coherent words, they tumble out of him in a confused rush. “Belle- is-is… I mean, are you-“  
  
He trusts her judgement- he does. Belle has never been shy about telling him when she finds something offensive, and he trusts her to tell him when there’s something which she doesn’t enjoy doing in their bed. But he needs to be sure. Sure that this wasn’t all the Dark One’s mad idea, that she doesn’t find him vile for the urgency of his reaction.

She seems to understand his half-formed question, because she ducks her head, “Well, we’ve tried things the other way around enough times. I wouldn’t mind giving it a shot.”  
  
“I have sort of enjoyed... seeing the two of you,” Belle leans in as if she’s sharing a secret, her lip catching between her teeth. There is a faint blush high on her cheeks, and he resists the urge to move forward just a little and kiss them. “We’ve been talking about it. I want to know what that feels like- touching yourself.”  
  
“And who are we to deny the lady what she wants?” The Dark One says, with an airy turn of a hand that manages to look far more elegant on Belle than it ever did on him. The thought of those hands on him- of Belle imagining them on herself- nearly undoes him.  
  
“I know you’ve thought about it,” it adds, silkily. “Spent quite a lot of time thinking about it, if I recall, back when you met that siren. You even made that potion that you wanted to accidentally-“  
  
Before Rumplestiltskin can open his mouth to protest a story that he’d really rather Belle not hear, she surprises him by leaning in and pressing her soft pink lips to its mouth, silencing the Dark One with a kiss.

They never did end up getting to the cake.


End file.
